


Quelling

by saturninesunshine



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, The Hunger Games AU, takes place after the quarter quell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 03:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2677526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturninesunshine/pseuds/saturninesunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye and Ward are reaped for the Quarter Quell, in the fashion of the Hunger Games. Skye has won the Hunger Games the year before while Ward was a victor from five years previous. They met each other during mentorship and have formed a bond. That is, until they were reaped from the existing pool of victors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Quell

**Author's Note:**

> This was just some random thing I typed up. They will be small inter connected drabbles I think. All credit goes to The Hunger Games. I did not come up with this.

"Don’t you think I hate it? I hate everything I did in that arena. I wake up screaming.”

“You can’t think like that.” He isn’t looking at her. A part of her hates him too.

His hair has been cut short by his stylists. The five o’clock shadow he has sported in the past five years since his victory has been shaven clean. He looks as uncomfortable as she feels.

“You just can’t,” Ward says. “You’ll destroy yourself if you do.”

“Is that what happened to you?”

“I’m a survivor.” He doesn’t say it defensively. He is resigned. It’s just the truth.

“Then I guess you’ll see my picture in the sky with the sound of canon.”

His dark eyes hold hers furiously. “Never. I would never hurt you.”

She believes him.

“I’m just saying,” Skye replies. “Someone has to do it.” 

“No,” he says. “I’ll die.” 

It isn’t a dramatic statement. Grant Ward doesn’t speak in dramatics like that. He only speaks the truth.

“I’ll die before I let anything happen to you.”

She finds that she can’t look away from his eyes. Flecks of gold glow in his brown eyes when the sun hits it just right. And for the first time, she hears what he’s saying. What he’s been saying for the past year since she won the Games.

“Why?” she asks.

He takes a step towards her. She doesn’t expect it, but he envelopes her in an embrace. He holds it too long and she has to choke back a sob.

“No one good ever wins the games,” he says. “Somehow you slipped through though. The rest of us are going to die. But I’m going to make sure you win.”

“No one ever wins the games,” Skye says. “You said so yourself.  You’re a survivor.”

“Not this time.” He lets her go. He turns towards the elevator. It will be the last time she sees him until they’re both standing on the platforms as the clock ticks down. She doesn’t want this moment to end. She wants to live here forever. She can’t face the dawn.

“Why now?” Skye asks.

Finally she sees him grin. A look she hasn’t seen since the Quarter Quell was announced. 

“We’re going to die, right?” he asks. “Might as well.”

She doesn’t think about it as she kisses him.

She can’t think about anything.


	2. The Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She never asked Ward on the subject, but she had a pretty good idea of why he didn’t ask to be allies. He didn’t want to be the one to kill her. Or watch her die. At this point, she knew exactly where he was coming from. She wasn’t so sure that she really wanted to find him at all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So these look like they'll just be small drabbles centering around the games and eventual revolution. They are highly highly inspired by the books and movies, so obviously there's the similarities.

Tripp is arguing with his district counterpart. Skye scolds herself for not remembering her name. She thinks it’s Bobbi. Or maybe that was someone from another district.

She kneels in the dirt of the arena, doing her best sketching out a rudimentary map in the industrial ruins that they’ve created this year. As far as the eye can see are factories that can either be lethal or empty. Twice a day on the hour, twelve hours apart, there’s a malfunction at one of the plants. Skye saw it from her perch on the top of one of the facades before a plant across the arena had a meltdown. She heard twelve canons signaling twelve tribute deaths.

That was this morning. They have yet to show The Fallen slideshow in the sky. She doesn’t know if Ward was caught in it or not. A part of her knows that it couldn’t be him. He’s too smart. Too observant. He got extra points for espionage when they were testing skills the first time around. She still couldn’t figure out how he would have displayed that and he would never tell her.

It’s hard for her to believe he would be taken down but some power plant malfunction that she was sure he could predict at this point. But she still couldn’t see him. 

Maybe it was on purpose.

Skye looks up from her place in the dirt. Tripp and Bobbi are leaning on a corner of one of the buildings. They’re far enough to think that she isn’t within earshot.

She can be observant too.

“Do you think I can stand him?” Tripp is asking. His voice elevates in his passion so Skye can hear better. He’s angry at whatever Bobbi has suggested. 

Skye can only guess. 

“It’s a bad idea,” Tripp says.

“Then what do you suggest?” Bobbi asks in exasperation. “Having an ally in the career pack would be an asset to us.” 

And then Skye knows for sure. If there’s someone in a career pack that they would even consider as an ally, it would be Ward. Usually careers keep to themselves. They don’t mingle with those who don’t volunteer. It was only after Ward returned home and shunned his entire family that it was clear.

Ward was exacted to die in that arena. By himself but not only that. His family most of all were banking on him being wiped out. That was why he had volunteered. Not just because he went to the career academy. But he came back. Ever since he mostly kept to himself. There were so many mentors from district two that he didn’t even have to do that. Skye had met him at the Capitol. At first they were wary of each other.

A lot had happened in the year since then.

“Or put his higher on everyone’s kill list,” Tripp argues. 

Tripp’s adversity with Ward is not a secret. Skye can’t blame them. From such an impoverished district, Tripp could never trust a career. But they were still discussing it. And that was something. 

Bobbi pauses for awhile before speaking again. “We have an in. You know him.” 

“Knew him,” Tripp responds. “And let me tell you, he’s a piece of work. We would be better off with Fitz or Callie. I know them better anyway.” 

“And what about Hartley?” Bobbi asks. “I know her.” 

“Hartley comes with Ward,” Tripp says, his voice tired. “We can’t risk it. He’s ruthless. His Game was one of the bloodiest ones there was. And we can’t count on any loyalty he might have to Hartley anyway. Not when you enter the arena. Not for people like him.”

“We have another in besides you,” Bobbi tells him. It isn’t just a suggestion. It’s a warning. Bobbi isn’t in a negotiating mood. Either Tripp helps her or she’ll find someone else. 

And she has someone else. 

Skye stops digging in the dirt, feeling two pairs of eyes burning into her. She can guess where this conversation is going. 

“He has a soft spot for the girl,” Bobbi says. It’s not as quiet as Skye assumes she’s trying to be. “I can get Hartley. He will help us if he knows we’re trying to protect her.” 

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Tripp responds. “What about Fitz? Jemma would never forgive me if he got left behind.” 

“I can get Fitz,” Bobbi says. “But that means I have to trust you with Ward. Do you think you can do that?” 

Tripp is stubbornly silent.

“How about this, then,” Bobbi says. “You win the games and then go back to district five and explain to May what happened when you could have been protecting her victor. We are getting out of this.” 

Skye doesn’t really understand what they’re saying. No one is getting out of this. Up until this point, her money would have been on Ward. But Tripp isn’t looking like such a bad contender right now.

But instead, Tripp only nods. “We’ll get Ward. And while we’re at it, I’ll make a shield for when my back is facing him.”

“You have a shield,” Bobbi says. 

Skye can feel their gaze again. She doesn’t look up as their steps approach. When she does, Bobbi isn’t there. She’s alone with Tripp. Bobbi’s already gone. 

“So, girl,” Tripp says. “Where do we start?” 

Skye considers feigning ignorance, but she thinks that they’re both too smart for that. 

“I’m sure Ward told you at least a little of his plan.”

“We didn’t plan on being allies,” Skye says, straightening up. The machete is heavy in her hand. May had done her best to weight train her. But Skye hadn’t won the Games through brute force. She was one of the few victors in recent history that was not a career. 

She never asked Ward on the subject, but she had a pretty good idea of why he didn’t ask to be allies. 

He didn’t want to be the one to kill her. Or watch her die. At this point, she knew exactly where he was coming from. She wasn’t so sure that she really wanted to find him at all. 

“Don’t you think we’ll have a better chance of getting out of this thing?”

“No,” Skye responds. Only one person is getting out of this thing. 

“Do you trust him?” Tripp presses. His reservations from before seemed to have disappeared.

She says the only thing that she can. “With my life.”


	3. The Field

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When it came down to it, I would put a premium on her life before I put one on yours. And on mine. When it comes down to it, she’s the one that lives.”

When Ward hits the force field, everything goes black for her. She realizes it only a second before. The second stretches out for infinity as her machete in his hand comes down in the darkness. Dread pools in her stomach and she understands something devastating is about to happen.

Tripp and Skye had found Ward and his group almost effortlessly. At that point, most of them had been dispatched. Hartley wouldn’t have made it if Ward hadn’t amputated her arm. This almost made Tripp abandon them altogether.

Skye almost went with him. Seeing Ward around the corner, covered in blood and fashioning a tourniquet around Hartley’s upper arm, she wasn’t sure that she could do it. She shouldn’t trust him. What made her almost turn around was that she did. 

In the arena, trust got you killed.

He didn’t give her that chance. 

“Skye.” 

Tripp stood in front of Skye protectively at the sound of Ward’s voice. Hartley was still shaking on the ground but Ward had risen to his face. His face was covered in numerous scratches, her shirt covered in blood.

Skye had known what Tripp would have said. Just as he knew what Skye would have argued to stay with their allies.

Ward had just saved Hartley’s life.

Ward hesitated next to Hartley. Never in his life had he been afraid of Antoine Triplett, but he was more concerned with what Skye thought at that moment. She realized from her placement that it looked like she had been hiding from him this entire time. It occurred to her that was the last thing that she wanted. She had never give much thought to what the audience watching the Games thought. She never considered how to get sponsors or whom those in the Capitol would be routing for.

It didn’t matter.

This entire time, she had been waiting for this moment. She had been waiting to see him again. 

She had walked around Tripp without a second thought and a second later; Ward’s arms were around her. Their identical thermal windbreakers scratched against each other. She could hear Ward’s heart beat against her ear, her head to his chest. 

Tripp and Ward helped a weak Hartley back into protection of one of the buildings. Ward had in fact noted the malfunctioning power plant that had killed twelve tributes earlier. There was a marker on the buildings that were safe, but advised they move on every twelve hours just in case. It seemed that the meltdowns were on some sort of schedule and it would be better for them if they kept ahead of it.

As night had fallen and the slide show of the dead showed in the sky, he took his place next to her without a word. They stayed that way the entire night until he got up after a crash further inside the building. 

He had insisted on taking her machete, though he had commented on approving of the way she was favoring her left. 

She remembered that he had adopted a similar stance in his Games. Archival footage of him flashes through her mind. She was thirteen, had only gone through the reaping twice. He had fashioned himself a double-edged axe from two different blades from the cornucopia. When he had survived with the rest of the careers, he murdered them all in their sleep. 

He had killed three people in one night, including his ally from his own district. By the time the sun rose, he had been crowned the victor.

None of that mattered. As of this moment, Grant Ward was flat on his back, eyes closed, his jacket singed from the burns of the force field, her machete still grasped in his stiff hand.

And now he wasn’t breathing. 

“ _Grant_.” 

Her voice is louder than she meant it to be, effectively alerting anyone in a mile radius their exact location. Tripp is on her heels as she bolts towards where she heard the electrical collision. The force field shines bright where the impact was, the far wall of the building. 

His eyes are closed.

She repeats his name but he doesn’t stir. The only thing she can think is to shake his shoulders violently. All of the self-preservation May told her flies from her mind. And most of it hadn’t included saving other people. Only herself.

It isn’t that she particularly needs him to survive. It’s that if he’s gone, she just won’t. She didn’t just happen to fall into Grant Ward’s arms. He crept up on her. The first time they met was at the Capitol for the last leg of her Victory Tour. He had a habit if crashing parties at the Capitol. That night, he had told her that he had the unhappy habit of winning things his brother had already done before him. The Ward family didn’t really need two victors. Especially when one of them was Grant. 

They danced and his breath smelled of whiskey. It was then that she understood everyone else’s aversion to Grant Ward. Not just his family, but also every other victor she had ever spoken to. Especially May. Apparently she wasn’t particularly proud of their drunken liaison after he won his Games. He was cold, he was callous and calculated. 

They saw the world differently. He saw dangers in every corner while she tried to save it. That was the reason that she won her Games. And it was the reason why he was stricken so curious by her. 

The night before the Quarter Quell he had suggested they have a drink. A real one. Both of them had thought that they would have years to spare at the time. 

The next time she had seen him was at the district parade. He was dressed in his district finery. They had dressed her in electric blue. It was supposed to be funny.

She assumed. Those at the Capitol had a strange sense of humor.

Ward never had a chance at a real life untouched by tragedy. But she’s going to be damned if she’s going to let him slip away right now. Yes, she knows that there can only be one winner. But she had known for a long time that no one ever wins the Games. Either way, she’ll be destroyed. But as of right now, she’s going to try and hold herself together. 

Her trembling fingers are still trying to hold him when Tripp knocks her out of the way. At first she’s petrified that this is how this is going to go down. Tripp is going to hold her back and just let Ward slip away. A canon will boom and maybe Hartley will last the night. Maybe not. 

But when she sits up, Tripp isn’t near her at all. He’s pounding his fist onto Ward’s chest. It isn’t any form of resuscitation that Skye is familiar with. The sound is so deafening she’s afraid Tripp is actually hurting him. But he puts his mouth to Ward’s and with a final pound, brings his fist down on Ward’s chest as hard as he can.

Grant sits up as though he’s been shot with adrenaline, sucking in as much air in his lungs as he can. Even on the brink of death, he’s violently holding on.

Tripp crouches in the corner, watching the two of them. This entire time, Hartley still slumbers. Ward’s dark eyes meet hers and she launches herself at him so he has to lie down again. She clutches him so she can feel his heart again. His arms go easily around her waist as though he had been waiting for her. 

She hates the wetness at the corner of her eyes. “You were dead. Your heart stopped.” 

“It’s working now.” 

When she puts her head to his chest, she feels it pounding wildly against her ear. And it’s as though none of the cameras are there at all. Their lips meet as if no one else is watching.

But everyone is watching.

“Why would they do that?”

Ward looks over at Skye, his brows creased. He never moves farther away from her, though.

“Make the force field look like a wall like that,” Skye explains. 

Ward flexes the fingers that had been clenched around the machete. She takes it back, though he doesn’t let it go for a moment. 

His dark eyes still look troubled. “I wouldn’t put anything past them.” 

“Skye’s right,” Tripp finally speaks up. “With most of us being mass murderers, why would they need to camouflage to create more death?”

Ward zeroes in on Tripp. When he speaks, Skye’s blood runs cold. “For sport.”

“You would know all about that,” Tripp says. “Wouldn’t you? Killing for sport.”

“I got your subtle reference before,” Ward replies. “I killed to survive. Just like everyone else.”

“Not like everyone else,” Tripp argues. 

“Fine,” Ward conceded. “Like every other career. You other districts aren’t very big on cooperation, are you?”

“No,” Tripp says. “You betrayed people that trusted you.”

“You would have done the same were you in my place.”

“I doubt it.” 

“What happens when it just comes down to the two of you?” Ward asks. “What happens when it’s you and Skye left? Would you selflessly fall on your own sword?”

“Ward,” Skye snaps. She never asked to be in the middle of this.

Tripp still doesn’t answer.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Ward says. “At least you know my answer. There isn’t a doubt in my mind what I would do.” 

“Maybe that’s not such a good thing,” Tripp replies. Skye wishes they would all just stop talking about this. Everyone is aware of it. Talking about it just makes it worse. 

“You think I’d kill her?” Ward asks. His eyes are full of fire and Skye is sure that her instincts were correct. “You think I’d hurt her?”

“You killed your own people,” Tripp says.

“That’s just it,” Ward says. “Skye isn’t my people. And when it came down to it, I would put a premium on her life before I put one on yours. And on mine. When it comes down to it, she’s the one that lives.”

“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.” Tripp turns his back on Ward. Ward slides to the ground, his breath coming a little too shortly from his chest. He finally looks to Skye but she can’t find a reason to be near either of them right now. She goes and sits next to Hartley, turning away from both of them.

They don’t speak for the rest of the night.

Sun shines through the grubby windows. It’s too uncomfortable on the cold ground to really sleep for more than three hours any way. She had hoped that she would be the only one.

Ward sits next to her while Tripp and Hartley still sleep. 

“I never really thought I would have to identify this for you,” Skye says quietly, as to not wake the others. “But I feel like I have to say something here.” 

“Okay.” 

“I do not, nor will I ever need your protection.”

“Skye—“ 

“I know you have this weird mother hen complex,” Skye says, “and you may be more experienced and bigger and stronger than me, but I won this before you know.” 

“I know.”

Usually he puts up a bigger fight. 

“Then what the hell, Ward?”

It’s as though he tries to smile but he hasn’t in so long he can’t really figure out why. 

“I almost forgot how blunt you can be,” he says, his voice fond. 

“Yeah,” Skye says, still annoyed.

“I know you’re not helpless,” Ward says. “The thing is, I am.”

“What?” Skye asks.

“If something happened to you.”

“We never talked about this,” Skye says. “I don’t have expectations, alright? You’re free to go off on your own and win this thing. No one would blame you." 

“Tripp.”

“Well, whatever.”

He tries to smile again. It almost works this time.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Ward says distinctly. “We may not have talked about this, but I never questioned that part, alright?”

“This is exactly the prime time to start something,” Skye says quietly.

“There’s never a right time,” Ward says. “And like I said before. We’re about to die. One could argue that there’s never a better time. This is it, Skye. This is what I want. If you don’t, well, one or both of us will be dead in a week anyway so I’ll get over it.”

She kisses him. She never thinks about things. She just acts impulsively and then freaks out about it later. But he is right about one thing. She probably won’t have time to freak out about it later anyway.

This time, he kisses her back. They might as well. They have limited time. 

They’re curled against each other for several hours before she speaks.

“What you said before.”

Ward looks down at her place against his chest. He doesn’t interrupt.

“You’re wrong.” 

His eyebrows furrow at her statement. 

“I don’t think I’m good,” Skye says. “Not anymore. Not after the Games.” 

“We’ve all changed,” Ward says. “You can’t stop that. But that doesn’t mean you’re not who are anymore.” 

Skye rubs her eyes. Spending time philosophizing won’t do them any good. She feels his touch on her arm.

“Are you hungry?” 

“We’re all hungry.” She doesn’t want to think about food.

In this industrial arena, the only real sources of protein they’ve found are the stray dogs roaming around at every corner. Skye really doesn’t feel like cooking raw dog on a stick. She shares the kebab with Ward. She’s more interested in finding water.

He makes her eat the rest of it. She ignores his pointed statement about how small she is. She rolls her eyes towards him. 

Already since the first few days of the Games, Ward was inclining towards his usual facial hair. When he had won his first Games, it was the longest one they had on record. He had grown quite a beard by the end of it. He had only been eighteen when he killed his first three people.

They were all just children.

That day, when the poison fog rolls in from yet another malfunctioning plant, Ward doesn’t hesitate to throw himself behind her and propel her away from it.

Tripp and Bobbi are already climbing out of the windows to head towards the contaminated river running outside of the buildings. 

Skye doesn’t follow.

Welts from the acid sprout from Ward’s neck and face. After a moment, he goes limp.

She screams his name. But Tripp only watches.


End file.
